bakerstreet | Post-Apocalyptic Meme

Post-Apocalyptic Meme

Well, it’s 2012, and we all know what that means: the world’s going to end this year! So in honor of impending doom, have a Post-Apocalyptic Meme

How it Works:
- Post with your characters.
- Use RNG to choose a scenario.
- ???
- Profit!

Alien Invasion- Aliens have taken over the earth.

Climate Change- The climate of our planet has shifted suddenly.

Cybernetic Rebolt- Technology has turned against us.

Impact Event- A meteor struck the Earth.

Nuclear Warfare- They dropped the big one. Enjoy that fallout.

Pandemic- A disease is threatening to wipe out human life on earth.

Resource Depletion- There are no longer enough resources to support life.

Zombie Apocalypse- An oldie but a classic, zombies are invading and destroying everything.

Other- Combine several scenarios or come up with your own!

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

...

[Because nothing says welcome to the future like a zombie apocalypse.]

[While the meteor hit the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, it did vaporize a large quantity of water. This radically changed weather patterns, shipping patterns, ocean currents, etc. Also? the tidal wave caused major problems for cities along the sea: Cardiff is all but gone at this point, Plymouth, Swansea, even Bristol had some of the impact. Luckily, London was spared, the Eastern seaboard of the States was not so lucky.

The World economy and infrastructure has all but collapsed. London can't handle the increase of refugees.

Now... Six months later... In 221B Baker Street... Sherlock is pacing.]

John, we're rats. Rats trapped on a sinking ship.

[ John, who had the fortune (or perhaps misfortune) of having a skill-set contingent to any situation, was all but living on the high of exhaustion. One could say that there were two floods for the end of the world; the one of water, and the one of people. London, which had never been very spacious to begin with, now found its streets clotted with people, police, and armed riot officials. John and Sherlock were very fortunate to be granted a living space to themselves (no doubt a favor extended from the shady and lofty position Mycroft held) for this long. Mrs. Hudson had two families living with her now, only one of which who belonged to her bloodline.

221C had since been warped into a clinic, both a blessing and a curse for John, who had always considered a private practice to come with his age, but never in this capacity. He worked with two other practitioners and one student, all of whom happened to live in said flat when they could manage to close the doors. Because there were always people, always a shuffle of noise downstairs. Even though John worked eight to twelve hours out of the day downstairs, he was always on-call. He relished the time he could spend sitting down, and was doing so now, watching the detective over the edge of a clipboard, upon which he was documenting their current food situation in the flat. John barely wrote anymore - it was just depressing, most of the time.

He frowns at the other man, not objectionable, but so envious of his energy. ]

I'd say you're more like a bird with his wings clipped, to be honest.

[ He offers, a dry sort of humor though his facial expression doesn't change; his eyes are dark. ]

Have you come up with something to do about it?

She was a hundred miles away from Los Angeles with a broken down fucking Jeep. John was safe in a bunker she'd appropriated years ago, but she'd gone for a few more supplies, those last minute medical things that she couldn't sit tight and wait for. You never knew when you'd need clean gauze and alcohol--more of it.

She'd dreamed about it since she was nineteen. The chain link fence, the children, the dust in the air, the flash-fire whump that said we're all fucked and you can't out run this, Connor. Because Skynet was coming like it had always been coming because men couldn't keep their hands to themselves, off the fucking technology, off the war and machines taking the place of human thought, human action, humanity.

She hadn't expected it now, though, but she knew that bright flash.

Sarah Connor knew it like she knew a fucking Terminator on sight. She stared at the Jeep's smoking engine and closed her eyes as another flash went off. And another. And another. The fucked up thing was that Sarah Connor was stranded on the side of the road in the middle of bumfuck nowhere while the world ended.

"Well," she murmured and lit a cigarette, "this is shit."

[He pauses mid step and turns and actually gives John his attention. Which should hint to John how desperate he really is.]

I've come up with with over ten things to do about it. Only five involve not killing more people. And at this point none involve not leaving here. So it's either stay here and do nothing about it or leave, which in itself, would be doing something about it.

[Don't mention to him the 'gift' that Mycroft has given them. Sherlock is now at his brother's whims which only adds to his distaste of the situation.]

[Because everyone needs a cranky pilot in their apocalypse.]

[ John does not look offended at anything that comes out of the man's mouth, but whether or not he agrees with them is another matter. Leave London? John licks his lips, thinks. ]

Where would you want to go?

[ Sherlock shouldn't mistake this as agreement; there are people here that need and depend on John to do his job, and for that, they (John, Sherlock, and Mrs. H) have been granted securities and materials that most people cannot afford. Not only that, but there are challenges to getting out of London now, physically, for John (because he is a medic) and Sherlock (because he is the baby brother of the government). ]

[Whatever the state of the world, Strife's on his horse looking for his fellow Horsemen of the Apocalypse. He's also sideways in the saddle.]

My brains and your experience? We could go wherever we want. Live off the land. Disappear.

[He smiles.]

Might die... Might get killed... that would be something at least...

[Of course he's bored. No one thinks murders are out of the ordinary. He walks to the window and looks out.]

People are dull, John. And when they're scrambling for their life? They become downright boring.

I'll tell you now, it won't be any better out there than it is here. Less crowded, I suppose, but...

Do you really suppose you'd be alright? You'd have to work, you know. I mean, get off your arse and do manual labor. It wouldn't be easy. There's no sofas in the wild.

That aside, are you really asking me to up and run away? There are people here that need me, Sherlock. Really a rather selfish thing to do.

The reports started to come in the week before, killer flus like the world had never seen, and the number was rising. Sarah wondered if it was some sort of Terminator plot the way she always wondered about massive disasters. Culling the herd, she thought grimly. John stayed inside, she didn't let him out, not until this shit was over.

Like she could control the air, the disease, like she wouldn't catch it because she was too fucking mean. But she had to go out for food. They called it The Weeping Red, because, at the fucking end, it was a mess of blood and pus and--

She had to pull off the road, the road then, and close her eyes just for a moment. Because she'd watched someone die from it and it wasn't quick. They said if you made it past the fever, you'd survive.

Maybe.

Bucky was not sick, but there were starting to be days where he almost wished he was. It didn't take an idiot to realize they were all more or less doomed, for real this time, because disease wasn't an enemy you could fight with guns or bombs, and when the doctors all died off, well. It had fun while it lasted, humanity.

You could be safe if you kept clean, so his life had turned into surgical masks, gloves, disinfectant solution, bleach and limited physical contact with anyone. Steve had tried to get him to leave, go somewhere safe, because this was real, Bucky, not some back alley fight, and hadn't that been fun to hear coming out of his best friend's mouth in some kind of messed up role reversal.

But he'd said no, he wasn't leaving him to do all the dirty work himself, so he'd stayed and Steve worried, but everything was alright, so far. No reason to give up on the living's will to live just yet.

So when he saw the woman pulled over on the side of the road, he pulled over, too, up along side her car and rolled down the window. Safe distance if she was sick. Staying in the car to see if she was before getting out and offering to help.

And to think things had been fine a week ago.

"You alright?"

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 14

Post-Apocalyptic Meme

Kyouraku Shunsui | Bleach

Kyle Reese || Terminator: Salvation.

Dave Strider ¦ Homestuck

John Watson | Sherlock BBC | OTA

Is 8 okay?

Dean Winchester (Season 4) | Supernatural | Very Open!

Hawk | Seiken Densetsu 3

Izayoi Sakuya | Touhou Project

Heine Rammsteiner || DOGS: Bullets & Carnage || OTA

Connor, Sarah | Terminator 2

4 - Can't decide if RNG was kind or mean XD

Izayoi Sakuya (born male AU) | Touhou Project

No such thing as kind in post-apocalypse

Of course it'd be 5 RNG knows not to disappoint, right?

True, that.

Cid Highwind | Final Fantasy VII | OTA

no subject

Bucky Barnes | Captain America: The First Avenger | OTA

Strife | Darksiders | Open to anyone, any roll

no subject

no subject

RNG: Six | At least it's not mutated Ebola

Eleventh Doctor | Doctor Who

The Master | Doctor Who

As far as you know :C